by Katy Cannon
Warmth hit my cheeks and I looked away. “Nothing. Really. I just … when I met him this morning, he was all smirk and attitude. I guess I thought he might be more of a Mac type – well, Mac before he found Lottie and baking and salvation, or whatever.” Troublemaker, generally considered Bad News. Probably on his last chance. The kind of guy who might be persuaded to help me.
But from what Jasper said, I’d read him wrong.
Jasper groaned. “Of course. You’re sizing him up as boyfriend material, like when you had a thing for Mac last year. And you’re not interested in him unless he’s a bad boy, right? Poor old Connor O’Neil is out of the running for winning your affection, just because he never set fire to anything.”
“I didn’t have a thing for Mac. He was a lost cause the moment Miss Lottie fluttered her fan at him, or whatever it was she did.”
“I think it was probably the chocolate chips,” Jasper said, unhelpfully.
I prodded him with an extra-sharp pencil.
The next big setback to my Get An Audition plan came the following morning when I arrived at school, perfectly on time even though I only had a study period first thing, and found the cast list for Much Ado About Nothing pinned to the noticeboard by the hall.
My name wasn’t on it. At all.
I scanned through the list again, checking over my shoulder to make sure that no one else was watching me. Nothing. Not even Third Maid From the Left, not that I’d have taken it if they’d offered. It was Beatrice or nothing for me.
And it was looking alarmingly like nothing.
I shook my head. There had to be a mistake. I knew Mr Hughes had wanted to make a point the day before, but I hadn’t honestly believed he wouldn’t let me be in the play at all. Maybe this was the understudy list, or something. That would make sense. Why else would Violet Roberts be down to play Beatrice? I mean that, right there, was the clearest sign ever that someone had screwed up here. Violet didn’t have a flirty bone in her body.
I stalked out of the hall and headed towards the drama room, a small classroom round the back of the hall, with easy access to the stage. I needed to straighten this out with Mr Hughes immediately, before too many other people saw that list and started asking questions.
“Ah, Grace.” Mr Hughes looked up as I opened the drama-room door, a tight smile on his face. Connor was sitting at a desk at the front of the classroom, and he turned those knowing pale eyes on me as his stepdad said, “I was sort of expecting you.”
And I knew, right then, that the list wasn’t a mistake.
My body flushed hot with embarrassment, then cold and clammy as the reality of the situation settled. I wasn’t Beatrice. I wasn’t the star. In fact, I wasn’t anything.
But I was still Grace Stewart. Prettiest girl in my year (officially – there was a vote back in Year Nine). Epic party thrower (until the police and my parents gatecrashed that one time). And yeah, maybe I hadn’t won that baking apprenticeship to Paris last year, and maybe Mac had chosen Lottie when he could have, maybe, had me.
But I had stuff going for me. I made killer cupcakes, for a start.
A year ago, I might have thrown a hissy fit at Mr Hughes, far worse than the one Connor had witnessed the day before. In fact, the resigned expression on Mr Hughes’s face told me that was what he was expecting. But there was too much at stake right now to risk it. I needed this part any way I could get it. Otherwise, what was the point? My whole plan this year was to succeed – to make my parents proud. If I didn’t get Beatrice, it was all ruined.
Of course, there was another reason to hold back the diva trip. Connor thought I was too high maintenance to play Beatrice? Well, I could prove to him right here and now that he was wrong. My dad always told me I could be anything I wanted, if I wanted it badly enough. And I wanted to play Beatrice so much it burned.
Besides, while Dad talked about making plans, Mum always told me, “you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
Time to test that theory out.
Closing the door behind me, hearing its quiet click, I took a deep breath and made myself smile a non-confrontational, friendly smile. When I turned back, Mr Hughes’s resigned expression morphed into wary uncertainty. Even Connor was watching with interest. It made his eyes look warmer.
Perfect.
“I just saw the cast list for Much Ado About Nothing.” I approached the desk, still smiling. “I think it’ll be really interesting to see what Violet does with the role of Beatrice.”
“Look, Grace. You missed the auditions. And Violet actually did a very decent version of one of Beatrice and Benedick’s exchanges with Ash. I think—”
“And like I say, I can’t wait to see it,” I interrupted. He was dragging me off-plan. “I just wanted to ask, since I won’t actually be on stage for this production, if there’s anything else I can do to help out.” Light, airy, unconcerned.
Because I was damned if I was going to let anyone else know how much I hated not being Beatrice.
Mr Hughes blinked slowly, his mouth slightly open. “Anything you can do … to help?”
I nodded. “That’s right.” God, seriously, was it that much of a shock?
“Well…” He grabbed a file from his desk and flicked through it. “Um, we could do with some help on the costumes. Are you any good at sewing?”
I’d made a needle case and a pin cushion with my gran when I was about seven. “Absolutely! And I’m sure I can pick up any new techniques I need.” Like, you know, how to actually sew or fix costumes.
“Great.” Mr Hughes still sounded pretty uncertain. “Um, the Sewing Club are going to be organizing most of the fittings during rehearsals. Maybe you should talk to Miss Cotterill about joining them for their meetings.”
“Of course!” I kept my smile fixed, even though Miss Cotterill was about a hundred and eighty and I suspected that Sewing Club would consist of four Year Sevens trying to learn to thread their needles. “Well, I’d better get to class. Thanks, Mr Hughes!”
“OK. Um, first proper rehearsal is on Friday. See you there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I paused. “There’s no Drama Club after school today, then?” When we were working on a play, we often had rehearsals twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays.
“No, just… Well, just a read through for the main parts, actually.”
The smile grew painful at this point. I’d never really noticed, but not everyone was there for all the rehearsals. Just the people who were needed. I’d always been needed before.
“Of course. That makes sense. Bye, Mr Hughes.” I had to get out of there and vent, somewhere people couldn’t see. But as I turned towards the door, Mr Hughes stopped me.
“Wait, Grace.” When I looked back, he was standing, studying me, like he was weighing up his options. Finally, he said, “I haven’t actually cast the understudies for the lead roles yet. If you wanted, I might be persuaded to find time for one more audition.”
Yes! I loved it when a plan came together. “That would be brilliant, Mr Hughes. Do you have time now?” Understudy wasn’t the lead, but it was a chance to show him – and Connor – what I could do.
He checked his watch. “I have a few moments. Tell you what…” He reached behind him and grabbed two scripts from the desk. “Why don’t you and Connor have a go at a Beatrice and Benedick scene together? I’d like to hear what you make of the exchange on page six.”
Connor didn’t look too pleased at the prospect but he didn’t say anything. Annoyance bubbled up in me. Did he really dislike me so much on one meeting that he couldn’t even read a few pages without being miserable about it? Or was he still convinced that I was too much of a diva to understudy? Either way, I needed to change his mind if I ever wanted to win back my lead role.
I needed to truly rock this audition.
I flicked to page six and scanned through the text. It was Beatrice and Benedick’s first meeting in the play, and perfect for showing off my biting banter. I grinned to myself and looked
up to find Connor’s glare turned on me.
“Start from ‘I wonder that you will still be talking’?” I asked, and Mr Hughes nodded.
I took a breath, trying to think myself into Beatrice’s head. A woman mocking a guy who was cute but annoying. I glanced at Connor. That should be easy enough.
As long as I could get my tongue around the language. Shakespeare was worse than Jasper. Still, at least I had the advantage of having watched plenty of video clips and listened to it spoken. I bet Connor hadn’t even read the script yet. This was going to be far harder on him than me.
“I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you,” I read, trying to inject plenty of disinterest into the words. Then I watched Connor, waiting for the comeback.
“What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?”
I couldn’t tell if the absolute dislike in Connor’s voice was acting or not. I decided it didn’t matter. So what if he hated me? I had the audition I wanted. As long as Mr Hughes cast me as Violet’s understudy it was only a short step to the lead. Sooner or later it would become clear to everyone that Violet simply couldn’t do the part justice.
I’d expected Connor to trip over the words but he didn’t, which was even more annoying. Why did he have to be good at this, when he obviously didn’t even care about it? In fact, he barely glanced down at the script before giving each line, every one with the same distaste and mockery that Benedick’s words should have. Was it just acting?
We read to the end of the scene, Connor flipping his script closed before I’d even finished my last line. He tossed it back on to the desk but I clung to mine, waiting to hear Mr Hughes’s comments. This might not matter to Connor, but it sure did to me.
“What do you think, Connor?” Mr Hughes asked. He was smiling, which I took as a good sign.
Connor shrugged. “She’s OK.”
“Such praise,” I muttered. “Really, stop, you’re embarrassing me.”
Mr Hughes laughed. “Oh, I can see it’s going to be fun working with you two this year. OK, Grace, you win. That was great; you can understudy Violet for the role of Beatrice.”
I let out a little squeak of excitement, but Connor just rolled his eyes.
Mr Hughes obviously caught the movement, because he turned to his stepson and said, “And I’m considering roping you in as understudy for the role of Benedick, actually. That was really good, Connor.”
“It’s just words.” Connor got to his feet. “I’m more use to you backstage, trust me.”
I clenched my jaw. Just words? What was he even doing helping out with the play if that was how he felt about it?
Mr Hughes laughed again. “Such appreciation of our literary heritage.” He shook his head. “Go on, you two. I’m sure you’re supposed to be somewhere else by now – and I have to cover a class in the English department.”
“I’ve got a study period,” I admitted. “But actually, I might go and see Miss Cotterill first. Sort out the Sewing Club side of things.” I didn’t want him thinking I was going back on our agreement. I knew I’d only been given the chance to audition because I’d given him something first.
“Good plan.” Mr Hughes was looking very pleased with himself, as if he had somehow single-handedly rehabilitated my entire character by denying me the lead in a play. Honestly. Teachers.
What you need:
Coloured felt
Stuffing
What to do:
1. Draw a heart the size you want your pincushion to be on a piece of paper and cut out.
2. Fold your felt in half, and pin the paper heart to it, making sure the pins go right through both layers.
3. Cut around your heart and then unpin the paper, leaving two identical felt hearts.
4. Pin the hearts together again to stop them slipping as you sew.
5. Beginning at the bottom and starting your thread between the two layers of felt, stitch around the outside of the hearts with three strands of white embroidery thread, using whip stitch or blanket stitch, removing the pins as you go.
6. Stop when you have just 4–5cm left unstitched, unthread your needle and remove any remaining pins.
7. Fill your heart with stuffing until it’s nice and plump.
8. Thread your needle again and finish sewing the rest of the way around the heart.
9. Stick your pins into the cushion to keep them safe until you start your next sewing project!
“How long are you going to keep this up?” Connor asked, as we stood outside the drama room, watching Mr Hughes walk off.
“Keep what up?”
“Pretending that you’re actually going to be any help with the costumes,” Connor said. “No, never mind, I reckon I know. Until Violet gives in and lets you play Beatrice, right? I bet you’ve got the whole scene sorted in your head. You come into rehearsals one day and Violet’s off sick, and you have to step in. Everyone sees how fantastic you are and Violet willingly steps aside to let you take the lead. The whole of Drama Club cheers. Am I close?”
I wriggled my shoulders a little uncomfortably. He was a lot nearer to the truth than I’d have liked. I didn’t want this guy to know me – or to even think he did. Because there was a hell of a lot more to me than one school play.
“Not even on the same continent,” I lied. “I want the play to be a success, yes, and I enjoy acting. But I’m happy to be involved in any way that helps. And, actually, I’m really interested in learning about costumes.”
“Really.” How did he manage to put so much disbelief into one word?
“You’ve met me twice. We’ve read one scene from a play together. Don’t start like you know everything about me. For all you know, I might want to be a wardrobe mistress in the West End when I leave school.”
“You might,” Connor said. “But I doubt it.”
“Why?” I asked crossly. I couldn’t help it. The guy was getting to me.
“Because I saw how much you wanted that part.”
For once, I didn’t have an argument. So, instead, I headed across the corridor towards the textiles classroom, my mouth tightening in annoyance when he followed me again.
“You don’t actually have to come with me to make sure I go, you know. I’m not your responsibility.”
“I know.” He didn’t move though. “Maybe I need to see Miss Cotterill, too.”
I didn’t argue. If he was determined to drive me crazy, he was going the right way about it. But there was no reason to let him know that.
“Fine,” I said. “Maybe I’d like the company.”
For some reason, he laughed at that. A real, amused laugh. And in among all my frustration and annoyance and everything, I couldn’t help but notice that he had a nice laugh.
False advertising, I decided. It was probably things like his laugh that made Jasper think he was nice. Friendly, even.
When clearly he was annoying as hell.
The textiles classroom was close to the drama room, but it wasn’t somewhere I’d spent a lot of time before – not since my last textiles class in Year Nine. I had a horrible feeling that Miss Cotterill was probably still going to remember the hideous stuffed whale thing I made in that class. I just hoped she wouldn’t mention it in front of Connor.
“You want to join Sewing Club?” Miss Cotterill peered over her tiny glasses at me. “Are you sure?”
Connor was silently laughing behind me. I couldn’t see him, but I just knew.
“Very.” I tried out my best “I know what I’m doing” smile. It had worked for Mr Hughes. “I’m going to be, um, wardrobe and props mistress for the school play, so it’s important I join you here while you’re all working on the costumes.”
Miss Cotterill didn’t look particularly impressed by my made-up title, but at least she didn’t snort with amusement. Unlike Connor.
“Fine,” she said, turning back to her desk, where a queue of Year Sevens was forming, all with tangles of thread and fabric. “But I warn you, costumes are tr
icky. It’s going to be a lot of work, and if you want that fancy job title I expect you to earn it. So I hope you’re ready to work hard, and that you have some idea what you’re doing.”
“My gran taught me to sew when I was little,” I told her, a little stung that she so obviously didn’t think I was up to the job. “I’ll be fine.”
“Hmm,” she muttered, probably remembering the stuffed whale. She handed back a detangled felt heart to the first Year Seven. “We’ll see. And what about you, young man? What’s your job here?”
I moved aside to let Connor take centre stage. He shrugged. “Jack of all trades, really. I’m going to be the stage manager on the play, so I just wanted to introduce myself.”
That she looked approving of. “Good. I’m sure you’ll be kept busy, and that we’ll be seeing a lot of you. Now, I have a class to teach. Grace, I’ll see you in Sewing Club on Monday.”
We were dismissed.
“Wardrobe and props mistress?” Connor asked, the moment the classroom door swung shut behind us.
“I’m in charge of the costumes. What else would you call it?” Picking up speed, I skipped down the steps back to the hall and headed for the sixth-form common room.
“Delusions of grandeur,” Connor replied, following me. “Guy— I mean, Mr Hughes just said you could help with the costumes, remember, princess.”
I pulled a face. “Don’t call me that.”
Connor raised his eyebrows. “If the shoe fits…”
“Then I’d be Cinderella,” I shot back. Stopping outside the common room, I leaned against the wall and watched him. “Tell me. Why are you even bothering being stage manager if you don’t care about the play.”
He looked right back at me with those cool blue eyes. “I never said I didn’t care.”
“You said it was ‘just words’.”
Connor’s smile was slow, like he knew something I didn’t. It made my insides itch. “Well, it’s true. Until the cast get up on stage and breathe life into it, it’s nothing but words.”
His tone made me pause. Maybe he did really care about this play. But not half as much as I did.